DRIVEN TO BAY.
VOL. I.
DRIVEN TO BAY.
_A NOVEL._
BY
FLORENCE MARRYAT,
AUTHOR OF
‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘MY OWN CHILD,’
‘THE MASTER PASSION,’ ‘SPIDERS OF SOCIETY,’
ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & CO.,
31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1887.
[_All Rights reserved._]
EDINBURGH
COLSTON AND COMPANY
PRINTERS
[Illustration]
_CONTENTS._
CHAP. PAGE
I. JACK, THE SAILOR, 1
II. VERNON, THE LOVER, 17
III. IRIS HARLAND, 36
IV. LES NOUVEAUX RICHES, 55
V. BREAKERS AHEAD, 72
VI. A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING, 85
VII. TWO WOMEN’S HEARTS, 98
VIII. THE ‘_PANDORA_,’ 115
IX. MR GREENWOOD, 132
X. GOOD-BYE TO ENGLAND, 153
XI. A DISCOVERY, 175
XII. AT SEA, 191
XIII. COURTSHIP, 200
XIV. REMONSTRANCE, 216
“SELECT” NOVELS.
_Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. each._
AT ALL BOOKSELLERS AND BOOKSTALLS.
By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
THE HEIR-PRESUMPTIVE.
THE HEART OF JANE WARNER.
UNDER THE LILIES & ROSES.
MY OWN CHILD.
HER WORLD AGAINST A LIE.
PEERESS AND PLAYER.
FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS.
A BROKEN BLOSSOM.
MY SISTER THE ACTRESS.
By ANNIE THOMAS (Mrs Pender Cudlip).
HER SUCCESS.
KATE VALLIANT.
JENIFER.
ALLERTON TOWERS.
FRIENDS AND LOVERS.
By LADY CONSTANCE HOWARD.
MATED WITH A CLOWN.
ONLY A VILLAGE MAIDEN.
MOLLIE DARLING.
SWEETHEART AND WIFE.
By MRS HOUSTOUN, Author of “Recommended to Mercy.”
BARBARA’S WARNING.
By MRS ALEXANDER FRASER.
THE MATCH OF THE SEASON.
A FATAL PASSION.
A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY.
By IZA DUFFUS HARDY.
ONLY A LOVE STORY.
NOT EASILY JEALOUS.
LOVE, HONOUR AND OBEY.
By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
POISONED ARROWS.
By MRS H. LOVETT CAMERON.
IN A GRASS COUNTRY.
A DEAD PAST.
A NORTH COUNTRY MAID.
By DORA RUSSELL.
OUT OF EDEN.
By LADY VIOLET GREVILLE.
KEITH’S WIFE.
By NELLIE FORTESCUE HARRISON, Author of “So Runs my Dream.”
FOR ONE MAN’S PLEASURE.
By EDMUND LEATHES.
THE ACTOR’S WIFE.
By HARRIETT JAY.
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
DRIVEN TO BAY.
[Illustration]
DRIVEN TO BAY.
CHAPTER I.
JACK, THE SAILOR.
The August sun had just sunk below the horizon, as Jack Blythe, a
passenger by the down train from London to Portsmouth, walked leisurely
home to a little cottage situated on Southsea Common.
He was a tall, well-built young fellow of five-and-twenty, with a
remarkably graceful figure. His hair was pale brown, with the faintest
tinge of gold upon it; his eyes were grey and languid in their
expression--his general appearance somewhat delicate. And yet Jack
Blythe (who had been christened Vernon) was one of the merriest,
most manly fellows in existence. The very fact of his proper name
having been mysteriously changed to ‘Jack’ was a proof of his being
a favourite with his own sex: as for the other, they, one and all,
combined to spoil him. Few, seeing Jack for the first time, would have
guessed his profession. He looked like a poet, but he was a sailor, and
belonged to the roughest part of the profession--the Merchant Service.
He had been educated, indeed, with a view to very different work; but
when it was too late for him to enter the Royal Navy, he had intimated
his unalterable decision to go to sea, and his mother, who was his only
surviving parent, had, with many tears, consented to his wishes. But he
was a good son and a good sailor, and she had never repented of letting
him have his own way.
As he approached his destination, he was accosted by another young man
who had run half-way across the common to meet him.
‘Hullo, Jack! how are you? You’re the very man I want,’ cried the
new-comer effusively.
‘What for, Reynolds? To pull an oar in a boating party, or to rig up a
tent for a camping-out expedition?’ asked Blythe.
‘Better than that, old boy! I’ve bought that little yacht, the _Water
Witch_, at last, and you must sail her for me. I have my party all
ready, and we can start for the Island to-morrow morning.’
‘I should very much like to join you, old man,’ said Jack, ‘but it
can’t be done. I may have to go to town again to-morrow to meet an
influential friend.’
‘Hang it! You are always going up to town!’ ejaculated the other. ‘One
day off can surely do you no harm.’
‘It might, at present, Reynolds. I have stayed on shore too long
already, and I find some difficulty in getting a ship. I have sent in
my application for a berth on board the _Pandora_, and as I have good
interest, I hope I may get it. But nothing is certain in this world,
and I cannot afford to relax my energies until I am provided for.
You see my twelve-month’s pay is nearly gone--that’s where the shoe
pinches; so, if I lose my chance of the _Pandora_, I shall have to hunt
up all the skippers and owners in the docks.’
‘You’ll get a ship fast enough,’ grumbled Reynolds; ‘you’ve passed for
chief officer. What more do you want? Come, old boy,’ he continued
coaxingly, ‘say you’ll give up to-morrow to the _Water Witch_ and me--’
‘I will, if it is possible! I can say no more,’ replied Jack Blythe.
‘Alice Leyton has promised to accompany us,’ resumed Reynolds,
meaningly.
‘Has she?’ remarked Jack without a blush. ‘Well, if I can join the
party, she will prove an extra attraction to it, naturally. But it is
as necessary for her sake as for my own that I should get employment as
soon as possible.’
And, with a wave of the hand, Jack Blythe continued his walk to his
mother’s cottage.
‘I don’t believe he cares a rap for that girl,’ thought Reynolds, as
he, too, turned homewards. ‘Fancy! calmly resigning a whole day on
the water with the woman he is supposed to be in love with. Bah! The
fellow’s not made of flesh and blood.’
But in this, as in many things, Mr Reynolds was mistaken. It was a
hard trial for Vernon Blythe to relinquish what was, to him, one of
the greatest pleasures in life. He would have given anything in reason
to have had an opportunity to test the sailing powers, and seen the
behaviour of the saucy little _Water Witch_ under his guidance; and for
a while he felt half disposed to gratify his desire at the expense of
his duty.
‘Shall I go?’ he asked himself as he strode onwards. ‘After all, it
will only be a day more, and I don’t half like the idea of Alice going
without me. She doesn’t mean any harm, I know--still, she is rather
free in her manners, and apt to say more than she means, and Reynolds
certainly admires her. Pshaw! I am talking nonsense! I have promised
to meet Mr Barber, and I must be firm. Besides, if Alice is not to be
trusted on a water-party without my protection, how am I to leave her
(as I soon may) to take a voyage to New Zealand alone? I must trust
her “all in all, or not at all.” I was a fool even to think of such a
thing!’
And starting off at a brisk pace, he soon reached his mother’s cottage.
Mrs Blythe was on the look-out for her son’s return. He was her only
child, and she loved him as only a mother can love the one treasure of
her heart. His father, who was an officer in the Royal Navy, had been
drowned at sea whilst Vernon was a baby, and it had been the one wish
of her widowed life that her boy should not be a sailor. But as he grew
up, the inherited instinct developed itself, and she had been forced
to part with her darling; since which her life had been divided into
two parts only--the days when Vernon was at home, and the days when he
was not. Mrs Blythe always called her son ‘Vernon.’ It had been her
own maiden name, and she would recognise him by no other. She thought
the nickname of ‘Jack’ both low and vulgar, and was disgusted whenever
she heard him addressed by it. She was a round, rosy little woman,
very unlike her son, who inherited his beauty from his father, but she
was a good mother to him, and he loved her devotedly. Although she had
such good reason to hate and dread the sea, yet she felt she could not
live away from it, and had been settled in Southsea ever since her
husband’s death. Her cottage, which faced the common, was surrounded by
a pretty garden, enclosed by a wooden paling and a little rustic gate.
The room where she awaited her son was neatly furnished, the walls
being covered with the curiosities which Vernon, and his father before
him, had brought her home from different parts of the world. Talipots
and fans from Rangoon, and bangles and hookahs from Calcutta hung by
the side of skins and palm-leaf trophies from the West Coast, and green
stone and carved wooden weapons from Maori land. Daintily-painted
boxes, and wonderfully-carved pagodas were piled up with ornamented
whales’ teeth, and the inexhaustible fern leaves from St Helena, and
necklaces and poisoned spears from the Sandwich Islands. Here, in fact,
were to be seen specimens of art from every quarter of the globe,
and with a story attached to each, marking the milestones along the
widow’s path of life, and hallowed by her smiles and tears. The room
had more the appearance of a museum than a private dining-room, but
these innumerable curiosities were Mrs Blythe’s greatest treasures,
over which she brooded whilst her son was absent on his long sea
voyages. She had had him all to herself for twelve months now, but the
holiday was drawing to a close, and each day she dreaded to hear him
say that he must leave her.
‘Well, Vernon, my darling!’ she exclaimed anxiously, as he entered the
room where his tea was ready laid for him; ‘what news have you to-day?’
‘None in particular, mother,’ he replied, throwing himself into a
chair. ‘I have been to dozens of firms, but it is the old story with
all of them.’
‘Something will spring up by-and-by,’ said Mrs Blythe, soothingly, ‘and
for my part I don’t care how long it may be first. But have your tea
now, dear. I am sure you must be tired.’
‘I am dead beat,’ replied Vernon, drawing his chair to the table. ‘I
called to-day on Stern & Stales, and saw their ship’s husband about the
appointment on board the _Pandora_. I told him how very anxious I am to
get it, but he is not sure if it is given away. However, he has four
passenger ships all going to New Zealand, and if the _Pandora’s_ berth
is filled, he has promised to try and get me on one of the others. If I
don’t hear from him by to-morrow I am to go up and see him again.’
Mrs Blythe gave a shrug of impatience.
‘I can’t think,’ she said somewhat testily, ‘why you should be so
dreadfully anxious to sail in the _Pandora_.’
Her son regarded her with mild surprise.
‘Why, mother, you know that the Leytons have secured their passages by
her. What is more natural than I should wish to go too?’
‘Well, if you do your duty on board ship, as I know you always do, you
will have no time to waste on making love to Alice Leyton.’
Vernon laughed in his lazy fashion.
‘Perhaps not! but I shall be near her in case of her requiring me, and
when we get to New Zealand, I shall see her father and get the matter
settled. It is time it was settled, mother. We have been engaged now
for nearly a year, and I suppose that, sooner or later, we must be
married.’
‘It had better be later, then,’ replied Mrs Blythe, hotly. ‘For my
part, I think it is nonsense to hear you talk of such a thing as
marriage. A child like you, and without any money.’
‘The last objection is unfortunately true enough,’ replied Vernon; ‘but
as for being a child--well, all I can say is, I don’t feel like one.
And if Alice chooses to marry a poor man, that is her business, and no
one else’s.’
‘There is a much greater objection to the marriage, in my opinion, than
that, urged Mrs Blythe. ‘I don’t think Alice Leyton really cares for
you.’
‘Oh, mother, why should you say so. What right have you to think it. I
should never have proposed to her if I had not seen plainly that she
cared for me.’
‘Any fool could see that she set her cap at you, Vernon. But she is
not the only girl that has done that. And she is a flirt, my dear. I
daresay you will be angry with me, but I must speak the truth. Whilst
you are away in London, Alice Leyton is running about the common and
the pier with any man she can get hold of, and chattering--dear! dear!
how that girl’s tongue does run. I pity you if you are ever shut up
with it between four walls.’
The young man did not seem in the least angry at this tirade. He waited
till his mother had finished, and then he answered very quietly, but
determinately.
‘Look here, mother dear. You mustn’t speak in that way of Alice.
Remember she will be my wife. Besides, you are quite mistaken. She is
not a flirt at all. She is very high-spirited, and has been brought
up in a free and easy manner (what with her father being away and her
mother an invalid), but that will be all altered by-and-by. She loves
me very dearly, for aught you may think, and when she is my wife, she
will be all that you can wish her to be--of that I am very sure.’
‘She may well love you,’ said Mrs Blythe, looking fondly at her son;
‘who could help loving you, Vernon? But there is another side to the
question, _Do you love her?_’
At that he started, and looked uneasy. Still his answer was given
manfully.
‘Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? A dear, sweet little girl like that.
Why, mother, when I look at Alice, I think sometimes she’s just the
very prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Such eyes and teeth and skin! And
such a merry smile! She’s the very impersonation of a sunbeam! A man
couldn’t be unhappy with a creature like that by his side. She’d make
him laugh at a funeral.’
‘I acknowledge all that,’ said Mrs Blythe, shaking her head oracularly;
‘but giggles and blushes and good eyes don’t make the happiness of a
man’s life, when there’s nothing else behind them. And sometimes, my
boy,’ she continued, coming round to his side and putting her hand
caressingly upon his hair, ‘sometimes I fancy--now don’t be angry with
me, dear, for I wouldn’t vex you for the world--but sometimes I have
thought--’
‘Well, mother, what have you thought?’ asked Vernon, as he took her
hand in his and laid his cheek against it.
‘That Alice Leyton is not your first fancy, Vernon, and that my boy has
had a disappointment of which I have never heard.’
His youthful cheek grew crimson, then. She could see the blood mounting
to his forehead and the roots of his hair. And when he answered her
his voice seemed suddenly to have changed.
‘And what then?’ he said curtly.
‘Is there no hope--no chance--my darling?’ asked Mrs Blythe.
‘Not the slightest. Had there been, do you suppose I should have been
engaged to Alice Leyton? I don’t know how you have guessed there was
ever another, mother, but it all happened a long time ago, and I have
nearly forgotten it.’
‘Vernon, my dear, that is not true. You cannot have forgotten it, or
the allusion would not move you in this manner. And as for “long ago,”
why, you were only five-and-twenty last month. How soon did you begin
to fall in love?’
‘Never mind that, mother. Whenever it occurred, or however it affected
me, it is a thing of the past, and I would rather you never spoke of it
to me or any one again.’
‘And won’t you tell me who it was?’ said Mrs Blythe, kissing his
forehead.
‘What is the use?’ he rejoined, wearily.
Yet he knew, as he asked the question, that to tell her everything
would be a relief to him. He had suffered very deeply, and in all other
sufferings but this his mother had been his true confidant and friend.
And so, with a little gentle coaxing on her part, as they sat together
when the evening meal was concluded, he was induced to tell his tale.
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